


Come a Little Closer

by tsund0ku_library



Series: Sleeping on the Job [6]
Category: Metal Gear, Metal Gear Solid
Genre: Choking, Death, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not kidding around here, M/M, Merry Christmas, Self-Harm, So yeah, That explicit rating is for gory moments instead of sexual ones this time, Violence, alcohol use, but read with caution, enjoy, i don't know what it says about me that I had a ton of fun writing this one, i forgot about that, lots of blood and wounds., lots there's lots in this one, that, there's a bit of choking until someone loses consciousness, there's a lot of destructive behavior in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsund0ku_library/pseuds/tsund0ku_library
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one jumps ahead a couple years, to just before Metal Gear 1. Don't worry, I'll be back to my old, early days sexy-time hijinks with the next installments. I've just be wanting to write this one for forever and finally let myself. This deals with one of the first missions David handles, and it all goes wrong. As things are wont to do. </p>
<p>The title is a Cage the Elephant song. Because I suck at naming things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come a Little Closer

"So are we clear on what we need to do, Jones?" Solid Snake asked, looking at Jones seriously, a map unfolded on the dirty ground pinned beneath his splayed hand, crouching on one knee. The hot sun beat down on his back, though it was still early morning, and a drop of sweat escaped his bandana and rolled down his face. He ignored the heat, despite being in full gear.

Jones sighed in annoyance before he rattled off the mission details, clearly bored of rehashing what needed to happen, his rust-colored hair damp with sweat.

"Contact by codec is an impossibility because they are disrupting all electronics, which is why we have to infiltrate the base and steal the only physical copies," Jones said in a bored tone. "Security will be tight, but they're not aware that we know about this location. We're supposed to get out before they realize what's happening. We're going in blind, so we need to scope them out more throughly than the normal first. We'll go in after nightfall, when the night guards are switching posts. The bare minimum of contact with anybody from the post will be made. A true sneaky mission." Jones added with a crooked grin. Solid nodded, gesturing for him to go on. Jones rolled his eyes, but continued.

"We'll split up, incapacitate anyone in our immediate way by any means necessary. We can't have them alerting the whole base."

Solid's face tightened almost imperceptibly at the, "any means necessary", but remained silent aside from a quiet, "hrrumph" as Jones continued.

"Still only making contact with those that are absolutely necessary, we sneak in, steal the files, and get out of there like there's hell hounds nipping at our heels, rendezvousing at the vehicle here and driving to the helicopter here," Jones finished, indicating a spot on the crumpled map with the pad of his fingertip, dragging his finger across as he connected the two imaginary marks on the map. "And getting the fuck out of this godforsaken place. Simple. I don't even know why they insisted on the two of us. We could both easily do this mission on our own."

Solid nodded his approval of Jones' summary and folded the map, shaking the dust off of it and tucking it into the pouch on his hip, shrugging. "Maybe they think we need a babysitter to keep us in check,"

Jones snorted. "The exalted Solid Snake needing a babysitter? Right." he said, tone tinged with a touch of jealousy that did not go unnoticed. Solid had only been awarded the title, "Snake" nearly six months previously, but he'd certainly made a name for himself, people lauding him and his accomplishments, his skill in sneaking in undetected and completing the mission almost unparalleled among the operatives currently working. Gray Fox was the only one that surpassed him, and he easily agreed with that, ceding to Frank's decades worth of experience and natural born talent.

Jones stood up and cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he tried to rid himself of the kinks in his neck. Solid followed suit, leaping neatly to his feet and brushing dust off of his uniform.

"Honestly, though, this one is risky. To go in with barely any briefing and no backup on the radio is dangerous. I don't think it'll be all that simple." Solid cautioned. "We need to do this right, cross our 't's and dot our 'I's, you know."

Jones looked dubious, but said nothing else. They made the short hike to where the base was allegedly stationed, unfolding the map once when they started to get turned around. They arrived at a cliff overlooking the base, exactly where the intel had told them it'd be. They crouched in the brush, looking through low tech binoculars and watching the comings and goings of the base, drinking sparingly from the canteens attached to their vests.

They'd been crouched in the spiny desert bush for quite awhile, the sun hanging low in the sky and Solid fighting off the urge to stomp his feet to rid himself of the numbness pervading his lower limbs. He was so focused on ignoring his body's wants and needs that he missed what a soldier was dejectedly saying to another.

"What'd he say, Lemur?" Solid asked Jones, switching over to his code name when they were in the field.

"My Russian is spotty at best, but I think he said something about missing microwaves." Jones replied with a snort, his gaze trained on the mouth of the soldier, struggling to lip read the rest. "Definitely something about fridges. Or maybe cats? Not sure."

"Hm," Solid adjusted his bandanna, keeping a hand on the binoculars, steadying them. "Russian. So far we've seen a Soviet, an American, a German, and somebody whose language we either don't know, or they just had a fucked up mouth. What exactly is going on at this base?"

Jones shrugged, setting his binoculars down to take a tiny sip of his warm water. "Not our place to wonder, is it? We're supposed to get in there and take a few files and get out. Easy."

Solid made a noise of dissent in his throat. "Still..." he dropped the issue, spotting someone in a lab coat. He leaned forward excitedly, tightening his grip on the binoculars pressed onto his cheekbones, phantom pins-and-needles stabbing into him as blood rushed to his numb feet encased in heavy boots.

"Lemur!" he hissed to Jones. "Look! I bet she'll show us where we need to go. The files are supposed to be blueprints, right?"

"Huh," Jones said, clipping the canteen back in place and picking up his binoculars again. "I thought we'd have to stay here another night. This is great."

"We may still yet," Solid warned, tracking the white, stained lab coat with his binoculars. "We don't know that that's where it'll be. We need to-"

"Take our time, I _know_ , Snake. But we should still try and be quick about it, yeah?" Jones said irritably.

"Hpmh," Solid issued a small grunt in recognition of his annoyance, but they both silently followed the woman that was most likely a scientist across the base. She stopped in front of group of metallic structures that looked like storage containers with doors that were sized for humans and unlocked one of them, slipping inside and shutting the door behind her.

"Well, shit." Jones set the binoculars down and rubbed at his gritty, weary eyes. "That's where we look first."

Solid nodded. "I'll take the left two."

"Roger that," Jones said, barely suppressing an eye roll, his tone terse and clipped. Solid's eyebrows knitted together beneath his bandana, wondering what exactly Jones' issue with him was but not caring enough to bring it up. He didn't need to be liked. What he needed was for the mission to be completed. Solid honestly didn't care if Jones didn't like him, so long as it didn't get in the way of their work.

Solid leaned back and tugged two high-protein power bars from the pouch at his hip, the empty feeling in his stomach too painful to ignore. If he didn't eat something soon, the growling of his stomach would give away their position. He offered one to Jones, who knocked it away irritably.

"I've got my own," he snarled, opening his own pouch. "Keep it."

Solid's jaw tensed, but he said nothing, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly and slipping the extra power bar back into his pouch.

They wordlessly sat and watched the compound, mostly out of the need for something to do, their plan formed and already knowing the shifts of the guards. The shifts changed at 10:00, which was when they were planning on sneaking in. Solid watched a boring conversation between two soldiers in Russian ("How's Liza?" "Been better. Borgis?" "Sick of my job, if you really want to know." "No, not really. Just making conversation.") and he carefully chewed his food, folding the wrapper and secreting it away in his pouch.

Five drinks from their nearly empty canteens, two bathroom breaks, and six hours later it was nearly time to infiltrate the base. Jones nudged him in the shoulder and gestured to the guards, who were leaving their respective positions and casually meandering back to a large building, most likely the mess hall. Solid quickly shifted from his cross-legged position and crouched on the ground, stiff muscles still working seamlessly, making his way down the steep cliff. Jones snuck a short ways away and mimicked Solid's crouched pose. As they neared the base, Solid moved onto his stomach, crawling along the dirty, hard ground, the desert air cool around them in the bleak blankness of the night.

Jones reached his set of metal buildings first, lock pick set already in his hands, peering around the corner before rounding it, kneeling on the steps as he worked the lock. Solid watched him slip inside and started to do the same before he noticed the guard already positioned in front of the door.

Solid crouched even lower as he took in the guard. The guard had a smooth, young-looking face, her hair cropped short. Shorter even than David's, who was allowing it to grow out a bit, a small tuft of dark hair forming at the back of his head. She was clad in simple army fatigues, although Solid couldn't spot any distinguishing symbols adorning her shoulders in the dim lighting. She moved her weight from foot to foot, shifting the gun awkwardly in her hands, eyes alertly and eagerly scanning her surroundings, as if hoping for an attack to break the tedium. A rookie, most likely, Solid decided, sneaking up behind her.

He rose from his crouch swiftly, a hand clamping over her mouth as his arm formed an impenetrable vise against her throat, squeezing the windpipe and not allowing any air to escape or enter her lungs. Solid knocked the back of her knees, and she fell to the ground with a soft thump, her gun still attached to the strap around her shoulders, her hands desperately scrabbling at Solid's arm, which might as well have been a steel bar for all the difference her efforts made against it. She lost consciousness, and Solid felt the exact moment it happened, her body suddenly heavy and limp against his crouched form.

He slowly eased his arm from her throat, pressing his two fingers to her throat, hand mostly covered by protective fingerless gloves. Her pulse was steady but slow, and he gently worked the OTs-03 SVU off of her motionless body, quickly dismantling it and tossing it somewhere in the spiny desert bushes that he had just crawled through. Solid hooked his arms underneath her armpits, hoisting her up, hands locked together just above her breasts as he dragged her back to the stairs.

Solid made quick work of the lock on the storage container, and he pulled her inside with him, shoving her awkwardly underneath the long table that was taking up most of the scant space inside the tiny place. Her throat was going to be horribly sore and probably bruised when she woke up, but otherwise unharmed.

Solid stood up cautiously, giving the room a cursory scan as he looked for any sign of the files before going into a more in depth search. After five minutes of tense, thorough searching, he gave up, realizing that the files most likely weren't going to be something he took to be a conference room. He knelt on the floor, checking the rookie girl's pulse and making sure that she was still out cold before slipping out, moving onto the next one.

Solid found it mercifully unguarded, and he broke in, finding a room that smelled of coffee and blood, an empty chair bolted to the floor, chains entwining around the arms, most likely to shackle an unwilling participant. This was the interrogation room. The torture room.

David swallowed, remembering his own interrogation training, the psychological and physical horrors he'd gone through to prepare himself for a place exactly like this. With a small clearing of his throat, he walked across the stained floor, opening one of the drawers of the single cabinet pushed against the wall. All he found were gleaming, sharp tools, and he slid it shut, not really expecting anything of value in these drawers.

Opening the next drawer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, muted by a silencer. Seconds later, he heard it again. Solid dropped to a low crouch, hastily examining the contents of the rest of the drawers, finding nothing of any importance. Only tools designed to wring the agonized screams out of the toughest of people.

Displeasure at being proven correct filling him, he snuck back out, noticing Jones crouched against the wall of the first place Solid'd checked out. Jones waved him over, and Solid quickly made his way to his side, crouching next to him.

"I have it." Jones whispered triumphantly in his ear, patting the pack at his side. "We can get out of this shit-hole."

"Complications?" Solid asked, his voice a low, disapproving rumble.

"Affirmative. A pair of soldiers spotted me coming out of the second room. I eliminated them before they could raise any alarms."

Solid crept forward, peering around the back of the metallic structure. He frowned deeply when he saw the two dead guards stacked on top of one another, their lifeless bodies grotesquely limp, dark red holes marring their foreheads.

"The job was meant to be quiet. Short and sweet. Casualties weren't necessary." Solid reprimanded him, scowling heavily.

Jones' nostrils flared in indignation. "Hey, I completed the objective, which is more than you can say, isn't it,  _Snake_?" Jones retorted, his voice raising along with his temper.

"Lemur!" Solid hissed, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Keep your voice down. Let's get out of here before their presence is missed."

Jones gave a short nod, creeping forward, crawling into the bush where Solid had discarded the OTs-03 SVU. Jones spotted the glint of metal and picked it up, examining the now-emptied magazine cartridge.

"So you disarmed a guard, huh?" Jones asked, a sick smile appearing on his face. "So you were seen? Guess the great Solid Snake isn't all he was chalked up to be."

Solid followed him into the bushes, knocking the magazine out of his hand. "I wasn't seen, she was guarding the door. I had to get by her. She never saw my face."

Jones started searching the thorny bushes for more bits of the gun, cutting into the precious time they had left to get out. "It's a nice gun. I might keep it,"

"Lemur!" Solid said exasperatedly and almost panicked. "Let's go!"

"In a minute," he insisted, still looking through the bush that was pricking every inch of exposed skin. "I want to find the rest of it,"

Solid started forward, moving past Jones and out of the bush, thorns grabbing at his skin and clothing, distancing himself from the odd, technology free base. "Quit messing around. Let's go!"

"Ah-hah!" Jones said, lifting the fully-assembled gun. "Look, I've found-"

The rest of Jones' words were cut off, never to be finishe, when a loud crack resounded through the silent night air. Jones' hands jerked, the completed gun slipping from his fingers as he pitched forward, redness pervading the area that his right eye used to be, the bullet piercing his head and whizzing past Solid. Warm, wet blood and other bodily matters hit David in the face, fluid splattering across his face, his navy bandana darkened to black in some spots.

" _Da_!" Solid heard a female voice shout in victory, and his head snapped up, the tendrils of his bandana whipping him across the cheek. He spotted the guard that he'd taken out leveling her handgun at him, her aim just to the left of his head. Solid burst into action, his hand unholstering his own weapon and readying it in barely more than a blink of an eye, his training taking over, his mind skittering behind in the wake of his highly skilled body. He shot her twice in the head, the only unprotected spot on her person, working off of reflexes alone.

She crumpled to the dusty ground, the structure behind her stained with shiny, red spots. Revulsion at what he'd thoughtlessly done curled in his stomach, and bile filled his mouth. He had murdered someone. A person. Without thinking, without flinching.

"That's it, squeeze it nice and tight. Don't let go, now. I don't want you to get sick all over the nice, clean floor. It has to be your left thumb, or it won't work. Don't ask me why, it just does." Master Miller's soft, soothing voice momentarily filled David's consciousness, and he reflexively obeyed, tucking his left thumb into a tight fist, nausea abating slightly. He remembered when that had happened. David'd gotten completely, all-out drunk on Kaz's best Sake and had been out of his mind, nearly utterly incoherent but still desperately trying to undo Kaz's pants. Kaz had laughed gently and extricated himself, tugging Solid to his feet and helping him on the couch, throwing an afghan over him. Kaz had sat on the end, David's legs tucked into his lap, silently watching a movie on the television, absently rubbing his feet.

Solid distantly heard the shouts of panicked soldiers, and he snapped back to reality. People would be coming. He had to get out of there. Swallowing back hot bile, he hoisted Jones' dead weight onto his back, carrying him fireman-style, still-warm urine seeping into his shoulder from where the front of Jones' suit was pressed into him. When Jones'd died, every muscle in his body had gone limp, uncommunicative and ceased doing their respective jobs.

Solid ignored the discomfort and plowed on, the muscles of his strong thighs protesting as he half-crouched, half-ran with the combined weight of all of Solid's gear and Jones' and all his gear on his back.

He stopped a good three quarters of a mile away, listening carefully and waiting to see if he'd been followed. He sloughed Jones unresponsive body off of his back, laying him gently in the dirt. Jones' eyes were still open, a horrible, gaping hole where his right eye should've been, the edges ragged and bloody. Solid shut his left eye, partly out of respect and partly because he couldn't handle Jones' accusing stare from beyond the grave.

"This is my fault," Solid thought miserably, gingerly rifling through Jones' pockets for the blueprints. "I should've made him leave. I should've locked that rookie in. It's my fault they're both dead."

Solid located the blueprints, finding them nestled next to crumpled protein bar wrappers. He secured them within his own pocket on his hip, needlessly buckling Jones' pouch. Solid stood up cautiously, stretching out his tired limbs, eyes restlessly searching for any gun-toting figures.

Solid hoisted Jones' body back across his shoulders, hiking over to the spot where the Jeep was said to be parked in the desert. At night, the temperature had dropped drastically, and Solid was almost shivering from the wetness on his shoulder reacting with the cold night air.

Luckily, he found the Jeep parked where it was supposed to be, and he laid Jones down in the back seat, climbing into the driver's seat and finding the keys beneath the mat. He drove in complete silence to the helicopter pick-up point, the only noise in the bare desert the rumble of the jeep and the distant howling of wild animals. How the fuck did everything go this sideways? This was supposed to a simple, easy mission and somehow it had a death toll of four people.

After thirty minutes of purposeful, but seemingly aimless driving, he arrived at the designated spot for the helicopter, seeing the black mass on the horizon long before he actually reached it.

Solid parked the Jeep carefully, shrugging Jones' lifeless, discarded meat onto his back once again, his body already cooler than it should've been, trudging up the short incline to the helicopter. He met the eyes of the pilots silently, their faces grim but unsurprised. They'd seen far worse, after all.

He mounted the helicopter, laying Jones down on the cold, metal floor and strapped himself in. Solid felt something warm and wet slip down his cheek, and he slapped a horrified, gloved hand to it, certain that it was a tear. He wiped it away, looking at the red substance staining his fingertips in shock. He was bleeding. Solid couldn't even remember the pain of his skin getting torn open. He cleaned his fingers on the filthy leg of his suit as the pilots clambered in, buckling themselves to their seats, flipping switches and preparing to take off, murmuring to each other through their headsets.

Solid slipped the heavy headphones over his head and pulled the requisite paperwork from a pocket on the wall and and beginning to fill it out, the scratching of his pen drowned out by the thrum of the helicopter through his headphones. For the rest of the helicopter ride, even when they stopped for a refuel, he kept his head down, eyes on the completed paperwork, not really seeing anything but the ruined face of Jones and the triumphant even in death rookie he'd killed. 

"Approaching base," the co-pilot intoned, and Solid looked up, his eyes painfully dry. When was the last time he had blinked? The helicopter dipped down, and he undid the straps holding him tightly to the chair, setting the paperwork aside with numb fingers, eyes unwillingly drifting towards Jones' prostrate form. He looked so cold. His lips were blue, his suit horribly discolored in some way places, his hair tinted the color of rust matted with dirt and blood.

Solid averted his gaze, slipping the headphones off of his ears and snatching the paperwork, preparing to open the door, hand on the handle, before he sighed so deeply he practically felt it in his toes. He clamped the paperwork between his dry, chapped lips to free up his hands and slid them underneath Jones' body, hoisting him onto his shoulders once more.

One of the co-pilots unhooked himself from his seat and moved in front of him to open the door, and Solid nodded at him in thanks, mouth still busied with securing the paperwork of the disastrous mission, the "mission: success" check mark in it feeling like a lie.

Solid leapt out of the hovering helicopter, and it took off, the helicopter leaving to be serviced. Higgins was waiting for him with an expression of distaste on her face, two medical personnel standing by with a stretcher. He laid Jones out on it carefully, his gut twisting as he took in his ruined face one last time before they whisked Jones off to ready him for burial. 

"Come with me," Higgins ordered, and led him down to her office, in the building opposite Kaz's. She shut the door behind him with a decisive click and strode around her desk, crossing her legs neatly and glaring at him. Solid stood before her, smelling like dirt and a dead man's piss, with an undertone of metallic tang of blood and old, dried sweat. He resolutely met her gaze, normally handsome features cast in a gaunt light, which would've made him look 10 years older than his actual age if hadn't still been holding his papers in his mouth, having forgotten completely about it.

"Well?" Higgins said curtly, and Solid freed the paperwork from his mouth, offering it to her. She took it from him, disgust curling her lip as she noticed the damp crescent shape where his mouth had held it.

"How many causalities?" she asked, flicking through his meticulous paperwork filled with his recognizable blocky print without reading a word of it.

"I wrote it down in there, ma'am." Solid said respectfully, gesturing at the files.

"I asked you a question," she said, laying the papers down and cocking her head dangerously. Solid's jaw flexed, but he answered easily.

"Four. Two enemy soldiers that Jones took out, one that I did, and- and Jones." Solid said, hesitating on the last one, finally breaking her gaze and looking down at the floor.

"So you killed?" Higgins asked, an eyebrow raised. It had been a point of contention between them, Higgins insisting that death was the price you paid if you picked up a gun. Solid felt that it wasn't his duty to mete out that price. It was his duty to try and complete the mission with enough finesse so that the gun wasn't even necessary, just a precaution.

"Affirmative, ma'am." Solid confirmed with a minuscule nod.

"Good." Higgins said, folding her arms atop her desk and smiling at him, her grin sharp and flinty. "Maybe it's a good thing you got Jones killed. His death finally broke that foolish barrier that was keeping you from going from a great operative to an excellent one. You were being held back by ridiculous morals that have no place in the field of war."

Solid's hand curled into fists, wanting nothing more than to leap across the desk and tear her hair from its restraints, to mess up her perfectly coiffed uniform, to wipe that sick smile from her face. How could she sit there, coldly telling him that the death of a comrade was worth it because now he was a murderer like all the rest of them? How could she live with herself, thinking things like that?

David said nothing, completely motionless.

"And the blueprints? Did you procure them?" she pushed, moving on. Solid uncoupled the buckles holding his pouch shut and unfolded the blueprints, setting them on her desk.

"Jones secured them." he explained, taking a step back, wanting nothing more than to get away from her chilly gaze, to breathe in the late morning air.

"Very good. You're dismissed." Higgins said, picking up a pen and pulling Solid's report towards her, ignoring him completely.

"Ma'am," he said, with a salute before hurrying out, desperate to get away.

He jogged away from her suffocating office and over to Master Miller's office building, breathing hard, his fists curling and uncurling. Solid stopped by the side of the building, unwilling to go in when he looked like such a horrible mess but desperately needing to see Kaz. With a strangled yell, he threw his arms back and punched the brick wall as hard as he could, over and over, the skin on his unprotected knuckles splitting open and blood soaking the tops of his fingerless gloves. He finally stopped, breath coming fast through his nose and mouth, dirty hair hanging in his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, that looked like it hurt," said a mild voice behind him, and he whipped around to see Frank, dressed in full gear, sword hanging from his slim hip, regarding him with something that looked almost like tenderness, not a trace of disgust or judgement on his finely formed features. Solid recoiled in shock, back hitting the wall that he'd so brutally pounded.

"Frank!" he said, almost smiling but not quite managing it. "I thought you were on assignment."

"I was," Frank said, moving closer. "But Outer Heaven can wait. I wanted to see you after this last mission."

"Ah," David said, nodding, looking away from that awful, warm expression on Frank's face. He didn't deserve such kindness. Not with what he'd done. "You heard about my monumental fuck-up, then?"

"I did hear about your last mission." Frank agreed, lifting one of David's bruised, bloody hands and examine the self-inflicted wounds on the knuckles, thumb lightly brushing away a trickle of blood. David swallowed, ashamed by his lack of self control.

"Are you OK?" Frank asked, still gently caressing his hand, his light gaze drifting over the blood staining his suit, the spotted bandana, the scabbed-over scratch on his cheek.

"Fine," David grunted out. "It's not my blood. Most of it isn't, anyway."

Frank shook his head, silvery hair catching the bright sunlight. "That's not what I meant."

David didn't say anything, looking away, throat working as he tried to swallow the lump of emotion that had taken up residence in his throat.

"You should let me clean these," Frank said, and he tugged an alcohol wipe from one of the pockets on his uniform, tearing it open with his teeth, unwilling to lose contact with David's warm, bloodied hand. 

"Don't bother," Solid said, but he allowed Frank to gently wipe his hand clean, gritting his teeth against the sting. Frank dropped his hand and gently pulled the other hand closer to him, flipping the alcohol wipe over and swiping away dirt and blood with clean side of the dirtied wipe, his silver head bowed over him, brows furrowed in concentration.

Frank finished cleaning his hand, but he still held his gentle, firm grip on it, looking up to meet David's confused, shameful gaze.

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling his away from Frank's cold, careful fingers. "I know that was stupid and pointless. I just-" But he couldn't finish, didn't know what to say. He couldn't live with himself, the weight of being responsible for the loss of two lives resting squarely on his shoulders.

Frank shook his head again, moving closer, tossing the wipe in the direction of a garbage can, not bothering to check and see if it made it. He grabbed the back of David's neck, pulling him closer. "Taking a life is never easy." Frank said simply, and bent towards him, even nearer. For a confused moment, David thought he was going to kiss him. Instead, Frank just lightly traced the shallow, scabbed over gash on his cheek before pulling him in for a long hug.

David stiffened in surprise, mindful of the stench of piss and other filth that hung around him, but Frank didn't seem to mind. He just held him close, an arm around him and a hand resting on his neck, resting his chin on David's broad, tense shoulder. David sighed and finally wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of Frank's neck, breathing in his familiar, comforting smell of something metallic but distinctly human. Frank pulled away after a long moment, hands on David's shoulders.

"You're good, David." Frank said, using his real name for once, instead of Solid, or more recently, Snake. "A good soldier and an excellent man. Don't let this tear you apart. Sometimes it's not about good versus bad. Sometimes it's just about survival. And never feel bad about simply surviving."

David stared back at him, words dying in his throat, and he nodded before he could help himself. Frank leaned forward again, tilting David's head down with a gentle hand on his chin, his other hand still resting on his shoulder, and kissed the top of his head sweetly, his cold lips on David's dirty hair just above his blood-stained bandana.

"Here," Frank said, pulling away and pressing something small and cold into his hand. "He didn't have anybody else. Goodbye, David. Don't let this destroy you."

David accepted the small offering, curling the fingers of his abused hand over it. "Thanks, Frank. Bye. Good luck."

Frank offered him a small smile, already making to leave.

"I don't need luck." he assured him, and with that, he left.

David watched him go, slipping Frank's gift into his pocket without looking at it, backs of his hands burning and body beyond exhaustion, each limb feeling as though it weighed three tons. He forced himself off the wall and trudged in the direction of Kaz's building. He didn't think he deserved to be around Kaz right now, but he needed to see him. David needed to see Kaz so badly it felt like a physical pain, like an actual wound.

He scaled the stairs, each step heavy. He knocked on Kaz's door to no answer, cursing when he remembered that Kaz was probably in his office. Where he'd just left.

David let himself in, locking the door, automatically scraping his heavy boots off and leaving them in a small pile by the door.

David tiredly bypassed everything in his single-minded determination to rid himself of the feeling of the last 24 hours off of himself. He could feel the insubstantial weight of Frank's gift in his pocket, burning a hole in his suit, guilt weighing him down.

David flicked on the light in Kaz's tidy, small bathroom, blearily taking in the moisturizers and who the fuck knows what else lining the counters. He didn't bother to shut the door, simply starting to strip himself of the filthy, smelly suit, undoing buckles and unhooking the thick body armor and tossing them carelessly to the floor. He removed the bandana from around his head last, staring at the strip of bloody fabric. David set it over the faucet to remind himself to rinse it out later, he turned back to the shower. Naked, he switched the water on, turning it far hotter than he would normally. He wanted to scorch the memories from his skin, he wanted to burn the guilt away.

David climbed into the shower, not caring enough to wait for the water to heat up, cautiously sitting on Kaz's stool. He bowed his head, letting the steadily warming water course across his strained, scarred shoulders, water streaming across his face and pouring onto his chest, the rushing of the water filling his mind, briefly driving out his guilt-ridden musings.

David sat there, motionless, until the water began to sting his still-open wounds, the hot water irritating the freshly broken skin. He opened his hands, palms facing downward, allowing the water to course over the tore skin, relishing in causing himself this bit of pain, this punishment. He deserved every bit of pain he got.

David sighed and pushed off of the shower stool, grabbing Kaz's expensive shampoo and squirting a dollop in his hand, massaging it into his lank, damp hair, the smell of the fancy shampoo permeating the bathroom.

Steam billowed out of the open door as David finished his shower, finally feeling clean. Physically, at least. He shut off the water, padding out of the shower, blindly grabbing the first towel within his reach and running it through his hair roughly before wiping himself down and wrapping it around his hips. He snatched one of Kaz's combs from the cups on the counter and dragged it through his dark hair, purposefully scraping his scalp with every stroke, hating the blurry image of himself that he could see through the film of steam coating the mirror.

Tossing the comb back into the cup haphazardly, he stepped over his suit and crossed to the dresser, tugging open the drawer that Kaz had allotted him and grabbing the first shirt he touched and pulling it onto his still damp body. It was an old, gray shirt that he'd had since before he'd bulked up, so it was pulled taut across his chest, stretching over his biceps and shoulders, but he didn't care enough to look for a different shirt. The shirt clung to the dampness between his shoulders blades, making it seem even more constricting.

David dropped the towel and carelessly pulled on a pair of boxers and an ancient pair of jeans, snatching the wet towel off the ground and hanging it over the hook in the bathroom, ignoring his discarded suit.

David shut the light off in the bathroom, leaving the bedroom and walking out to the kitchen, bracing himself against the counter of the island. Guilt twisted painfully in his gut. Every time he blinked, he saw their dead faces, empty mouths silently gaping open, jaws slack. Squeezing his eyes shut, he folded his hands together like he was praying and pressed his knuckles into his forehead, leaning heavily on the counter, eyes still dry.

David let out a audible exhale of pain and bounced up, looking around the modest kitchen. His aimless gaze fell on the cheap bottle of whiskey that was on the counter and he strode around the counter, grabbing the slick bottle and uncapping it. At least he knew one thing that was sure to drive his guilt from his mind.

 

                                                             ***  

 

Kaz stumped angrily up the metal stairs to his apartment, the light of the day long since past. He was horribly irritated with Higgins, who'd neglected to tell him that David was back from his risky mission. He hated sending him out on that mission, but he'd been the best candidate for the job, so Kaz'd kept his mouth shut. It was only when Jaeger had contacted him to ask how David was doing that he'd found out that David was even back. He was also hurt that David hadn't sought him out immediately after such a risky mission, but that was beside the point. Higgins had withheld information from him!

Kaz already read the file, having torn the file angrily from Higgins' unimpressed hands and scanned it quickly. David would be horribly upset by this. Why hadn't he come to Kaz for comfort? And where exactly was he?

Mouth set in a flat, angry line, he unlocked his door, turning the light on. Shocked, he almost dropped his crutch at the sight before him.

"Master!" David said sloppily, head lolling in his direction. He raised his hand in greeting, a nearly empty bottle of his crappiest whiskey held in his tight grip. He was sitting on the floor, barefoot with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the island. "Been waiting for you,"

"David?!" Kaz spluttered, locking the door and maneuvering himself closer, barely escaping getting tripped by an empty bottle of water. At least he'd been staying hydrated.

"Hey, Kaz. You miss me? I missed _yoooou_ ," David said trying to get to his feet, nearly upending the rest of the whiskey bottle in his efforts to get up. Kaz leaned against the counter so that he could press a firm hand to David's warm shoulder, pinning him in place.

"Stay there, boy. Let me help you up," Kaz warned, bettering his stance against the counter so that he could offer David assistance in getting to his feet. David snickered, tightening his hold on the bottle as he slumped back against the counter.

"I don't like it when I don't see you," David said, peering up at him. His cheeks looked even more hollow than they normally did, and there were deep, purple-black shadows beneath his eyes. Kaz wondered when he'd slept last. "I need you," he added plaintively, hooking a finger into Kaz's belt loop and attempting to tug him closer. 

"I like seeing you, too, David." Kaz assured him, holding out a hand. "I think you've had quite enough of that, don't you? Give me the bottle, David."

"No, Master!" David said, in the convincingly decisive manner of the exceptionally inebriated, clutching the bottle to his chest, finger still threaded through Kaz's belt loop. "I feel better when I have this, I think."

"Not later, you won't." Kaz muttered, before snapping his fingers impatiently. "Now, give it to me. Or are you disobeying your Master?"

David blanched, his dark shadows appearing even more visible against his paled skin. "No, of course not. Don't- I wouldn't-" He struggled to stand up again, pulling heavily on Kaz's pants, handing him the bottle hurriedly. Kaz let out an, "oof", as he fought to remain upright, setting the bottle on the counter.

" _Stay_ , David. There's a good boy, just stay there for a minute." Kaz ordered, and David let go of his belt loop reluctantly, pouting.

"I _am_ a good boy," David assured him solemnly, widening his pretty blue eyes. "I am, Kaz. 'M sorry 'bout the drink, Kaz. Sorry. I needed it. Higgins said, she said that morals are bad, and no morals is the objective. I think. Something like that. I don't- I can't think that. There's good stuff, and you got to be good."

David sat in silence, brows knitting together as his sluggish, drunk brain tried to work something out. "Maybe I'm not a good boy." he said finally, after careful deliberation.  

Kaz shook his head, gaining a firm grip on David's thick bicep and tugging him up. David slung his arm across his shoulders, Kaz helping David get around for once. Kaz picked up his crutch and started to slowly make his way to his bedroom, mindful of David's labored, clumsy movements.

"You're a good boy, David. A very good boy. Aren't you? Are you a good boy for your Master?" he asked, trying to distract David from his forlorn thoughts. David nodded so emphatically that he almost sent them both sprawling to the floor.

"Yes. I love Kaz. I love you, Master. I need to be good for you." David insisted, pressing a warm hand to Kaz's stomach, trying to look into Kaz's covered eyes. Kaz glanced at him, switching on the bedroom light with his crutch.

"I love you, too, David. Now, let's get you to bed, hm?" David perked up at his words, and he slid his hand lower, rubbing at Kaz through his heavy pants. Kaz hardened slightly, unwillingly responding to David's insistent touch on his thickening dick.

"Yeah, I missed you, Kaz. I really missed you, a lot."

Kaz laughed gently, pushing him onto the bed, removing David's hand from his crotch. Kaz noticed the wicked bruising and lacerations across his knuckles and wondered what had happened. "You mentioned that. I think it's time for sleeping, though. First, at least."

David's face fell, and he sunk back into the pillow, looking distraught. "You don't want me?" he asked, a terrible look of abandonment and self-loathing crossing his face. "It's OK; I get it. I wouldn't want me, either. I'll just go,"

David made to get off the bed, but Kaz pressed him back into it, laying his crutch beside him on the bed, climbing onto it. "You will not leave. You'd kill yourself on those goddamn stairs. It'd be a death trap in your condition."

Kaz undid David's pants button, unzipping his jeans and tugging them down. David canted his hips upwards with a messy grin, aiding Kaz in the removal of his pants. "Change your mind?" he asked, barely slurring his words, reaching up to tug at the end of his ponytail. Kaz rolled his eyes, finally getting his jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

"Not hardly. I don't think you'd be up for much in your current state."

David's full, tantalizing bottom lip stuck out as he pouted. "You don't think I'm sexy any more?" he asked, pain filling his voice.

Kaz smothered a groan. Why, for the love of god, why did David decide that now was the time to throw himself at him, when he was actually trying to do the _right_ thing for once? Kaz could barely handle this shit-faced man with the best goddamn ass he'd ever seen in this state. Deciding that he should at least get a taste for his good deed, Kaz slid on top of him, rocking against David's hips clad only in a pair of black boxers, letting him feel just how aroused he'd made Kaz from his wanton touches.

Kaz pressed a kiss to David's desperately waiting lips, tasting whiskey on his tongue. "On the contrary," Kaz breathed, breaking away to look into David's glazed eyes, trailing his fingers up his side and causing David to shiver beneath him. David met his shallow thrusts eagerly, panting, his own dick straining against the flimsy confines of his boxers. Kaz kissed the underside of David's jaw tenderly, smelling his own soap on David's skin. Kaz moaned needily, clutching David closer to him before sliding back on to the bed beside him. David made a noise of deep displeasure and opened his eyes, grabbing Kaz's wrist. Kaz smirked at him, pulling away.

"See? I still think you're plenty hot. Now go to sleep. Can you be a good boy and go to sleep for me? For your Kaz?" he asked him, and David nodded, rolling over to his side of the bed and burrowing under the covers, cheek pressing into his pillow.

"I want to be good, Kaz." David said, eyes shut tight. His long lashes were nearly lost against the dark backdrop of the deep semicircles beneath his eyes. "But I don't want to see them."

Kaz didn't need any clarification as to who, "they" were, and he reached across the bed, running his thumb over David's bottom lip. "I know, David. I know. But you need to sleep."

David nodded into the pillow, breath slowing. Kaz watched him, throat tightening, hand still resting on his cheek.

"It's not your fault, you know. Jones' death. You couldn't have helped him." Kaz said suddenly, and David shook his head disbelievingly.

"'Snot what Higgins says," David mumbled into his sheets.

"What was that? What did Higgins say?" Kaz asked urgently, but David was already fast asleep, dark hair flopping over his forehead softly.

Kaz withdrew his hand and grabbed his cane, using it to push himself to his feet. David jerked awake and cracked a single eye open, looking sad and lonely.

"Come to bed?" he asked pleadingly, a sliver of blue peeking from his achingly tired eyes. Something in Kaz broke and he leaned forward, kissing David's cheekbone gently before pulling away again. He paused in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at the man on his bed.

"In a bit. I have something I need to take care of first." Kaz assured him, longingly casting his eye over David's rumpled, warm-looking form.

"'K," David said, falling back asleep, acute exhaustion finally taking over.

Several minutes later, he was in Higgins' office, yelling himself hoarse, irate and shaking, occasionally banging his crutch into the ground for emphasis.

"And then you tell that poor boy that it's _his_ fault that Jones got shot in the fucking head? I read that file, and it seems like what got Jones killed was that he was a fucking dumbass. 'Jones was caught trying to return enemy weapons to base' We don't need their crappy guns! Jones was killed by his own stupidity!" Kaz finished his rant, breathing heavily. Higgins regarded him from her relaxed position in her desk chair, not having moved since he'd come in.

"Seeing as you've read the file, you'd also know that Solid Snake decided to non-lethally take out an enemy, which came back and hit him squarely in the ass. He should've shot her and be done with it. Had he followed that reasonable course of action, maybe Jones'd be here right now, showing off his pilfered gun." Higgins folded her hands neatly on the desk, infuriatingly calm. That made Kaz unbelievably angry, being full of rage and spitting mad and the other person just taking it in stride. He wanted them to react, to get furious, to yell at him so that his rage didn't seem blown out of proportion. And Higgins knew this.

"Honestly, Miller, I think that your- well, let's just call it a _relationship_ \- with the boy is clouding your normally excellent judgement. Even around the base, you're neglecting your dress uniform!" she added in an aghast tone, waving a hand at his attire. Kaz was wearing a simple tank top that showcased his lack of a limb with his military pants, his beret noticeably absent and his blond hair pulled back into a long, loose ponytail at the base of his neck. "You're letting yourself _go_ , Miller. This boy is bad news for you. You should cut him loose, in my opinion, sir."

Kaz stepped forward, nearly incomprehensible with rage, staring at her in disbelief. That last 'sir' was a slap in the face to him, a poor attempt at respect when the content of her words were anything but. Kaz took a deep breath, bowing his head for a second, his ponytail slipping over his shoulder. Still looking at the floor, he began to talk, he words coming out in calm, mediated tone, voice low but clear so that she couldn't miss a single word.

"Higgins, let me make something excruciatingly clear; you are _not_ to bring up David in that manner to me again. Or to anyone for that matter. Don't even think about him in that respect. He doesn't exist to you outside of his work in the field." Kaz looked up at her, stepping even closer. His knee was now right up against her desk, and he looked down at her, a scowl marring his strong features. "And tomorrow, you are going to call Solid into your office and you're going to tell him that he is not to be held accountable for anything that went wrong during his last mission. That, ultimately, the mission was a success because he completed the mission. Do you understand?"

Higgins sighed and cracked her neck before meeting his unflinching stare. "Yes, sir. I will call _David_ into my office and and tell him what a good boy he is. Although I always thought that that was your job."

Kaz set his crutch down and leaned against the desk heavily, grabbing her chin roughly in his single hand, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her face. "What did I just say? What. The fuck. Did I just fucking say?" he asked, his tone still soft and reasonable. Higgins swallowed.

"Sorry, sir. I'll call him in tomorrow. Don't worry about it." she promised, though her eyes still held their mocking, insouciant cast. Kaz dropped her face and wiped his fingers off on his tank top, as though he'd touched something disgusting and needed to clean himself of it. He grabbed his crutch and strode away from her, hand on the doorknob.

"You'd better make that call," he said over his shoulder, and left.

Kaz stormed back to his place, feeling only moderately better after reaming Higgins out than he had on the way down. He knew David. He knew that the shame and guilt of what he'd thought he'd done would fester inside him. A simple congratulations from a woman he didn't like would do nothing to change that, but Kaz had to do something to try to fix things. He hated how helpless he felt.

Kaz scaled the stairs, more carefully than he normally did, mindful of the sleeping operative in his bed. He quietly extricated his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door with a soft click, trying his best not to wake David up.

Kaz dropped his keys into his basket, wincing at the loud clatter they made. David didn't stir, his head still buried in the pillow, a spot of drool already forming beneath his cheek. Kaz slowly went into his room, shutting off the light, looking down at the soundly sleeping boy in his bed before leaning his crutch by the side table, tugging his sunglasses off and carelessly undoing his pants and pulling the tank top off. He sat down on the bed and quickly undid the buckles holding his leg in place, freeing his hair from the tie and slipping under the covers beside David in nothing but his boxer-briefs.

David gave a sleepy mumble when the bed depressed beneath him and nestled closer to Kaz. Kaz allowed a soft smile to grace his face, nobody around to see his gentle expression, and rolled onto his side, sneaking his arm underneath David's pillow, enjoying the warmth pressing into him, the comforting lull of David's even breaths in his ear and against his chest pulling him under.

When Kaz awoke, his front felt cold, and he blindly reached for David, slipping his hand out from under the pillow to pull him closer, to use David's above-average temperature to his advantage, but there was nobody there. He opened his eyes reluctantly, finding the left side of his bed empty, the sheets still warm and slightly damp, like David had been sweating profusely in his sleep and had just gotten up.

Kaz pushed himself into a sitting position, clicking on his bedside lamp and squinting at the front door. In the scant light that the lamp gave off, he could just make out the blurry outline of David's shoes sitting by the door, socks still crumpled on top of them. So he hadn't gone far.

"David?" he called out, his voice rough from sleep. There was no answer. Sighing, he squinted at the clock and 3:03 a.m. blinked at him in red numbers. He scooted out from under the warm sheets, ignoring his prosthetic leg and glasses and grabbing his crutch, limping heavily as he stumbled to the bathroom to take a much needed piss, his long hair brushing his bare shoulders.

Switching on the light and shutting the door, he saw David's filthy uniform hanging on the hook on the back of the door, and smelled the sharp scent of peppermint in the air. David must've thrown up and had to brush his teeth.

Finishing up his deed, he washed his hand and noticed David's treasured bandana hanging around the faucet, blood-stained and limp. He took it tenderly in hand and washed the blood out as best as he could, aided in his efforts with soap and almost painfully chilly water. 

Setting the sopping bandana back over the faucet, he dried his hand on the towel hanging on the rack and stomped back out to his closet. Kaz clicked on the light to his closet, stumbling when he bumped into an oddly shaped stool covered with a sheet. He smirked to himself at the sight of the stool as he rummaged through his closet, finally finding an old, bright yellow zip-up hoodie and tugging it over his bare chest, not bothering to attempt and zip it properly, letting it hang open. 

Kaz shut off the light and made his way to the front door, beleaguered by his refusal to attach his prosthetic leg. He found the door unlocked, and he twisted the knob, shivering in the sudden gust of cold air that hit the exposed skin of his chest. He found David sitting on the cold metal ground, legs sticking out from beneath the railing, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth and a lighter loosely clasped in his hand, clad only in his underwear and his too-tight shirt. David's sharp nipples were prominent in the chill of the night air, the small, tight buds obvious through his thin shirt, and Kaz lazily cast his gaze over them before averting his gaze, focusing instead on the lighter between his fingers. David didn't need to be ogled right now. He needed to be comforted.

"David," Kaz said quietly, and David started violently, whipping the cigarette from his mouth before realizing that he wasn't a kid anymore and he could smoke if he wanted to. David carefully replaced the unlit smoke in his mouth, the tip of his tongue touching the butt lightly.

"Hey," he muttered, tipping his head back to look at Kaz, his blue eyes bloodshot. The deep semicircles had faded slightly, but the skin beneath his eyes still looked darkly bruised.

"Smoke break?" Kaz inquired lightly, moving to David's other side and shifting his crutch to beneath the remnants of his right arm so that he grip the back of David's neck as he carefully lowered himself to a seated position beside him. David bowed his head to give him a better handhold and pressed a hand over Kaz's. David shuffled away to give Kaz a little more room, and Kaz sat down, the metal freezing against his barely clothed ass. Kaz slipped his hand from David's neck and gripped the metal railing, looking at his legs dangling off the railing, his right leg ending harshly, gracelessly. Both men were scarred by war, but Kaz's scarring was more readily observed.

"Yeah, I can't- I can't light it. My hands-" David held his hands up, and Kaz noticed that they were trembling slightly, a silver chain wound around the hand that held the lighter, glinting in the dim light. Normally, Kaz would tell him mock sternly that those things would kill him and pluck the cigarette from his lips, but David deserved a small creature comfort like this. He held out his hand for the lighter, nudging David with his shoulder.

"Here, let me." Kaz said, and David passed him the lighter, bending his head to allow Kaz easier access. Kaz lit it, and smoke unfurled from the glowing tip, the smoke winding away into the night air. David took a long drag, holding the smoke in until his lungs started to burn with oxygen deprivation.

David tilted his head towards him, noting his unzipped yellow hoodie. He reached out, cigarette hanging from his lips, ash dropping off the glowing end, the tips of his fingers brushing against Kaz's bare stomach as he fumbled artlessly with the zipper pull.

"Don't want you to get cold," he mumbled around the cigarette clamped between his lips, the zipper finally catching. He tugged it all the way up and reached behind Kaz's head, gathering up his soft blond hair and freeing it from where it was trapped between his skin and the hoodie.

Kaz smiled at him, and David's cheeks pinked slightly and he glanced away, looking instead at the base sprawling beneath him. He sucked in, absently removing the cigarette from his pursed lips and offering it to Kaz, who took a drag from it before handing it back to David. He need it more than Kaz did. David accepted it, nestling it back between his full lips, lost in thought once more.

Kaz slipped the lighter into his pocket and looked at David's still slightly trembling hands, and he knew it wasn't from the cold. He picked up David's hand, pulling it into his lap and threading his fingers through David's, David's fingers rough and scratched. David looked back at him in surprise. They hardly ever held hands, Kaz not really being one for anything that took his hand's mobility away from him, but David took it in stride, squeezing his hand gratefully and shifting closer, his warm, bare thigh pressing into Kaz's leg, his toes briefly caressing Kaz's hairy, muscular calf.

"I'm sorry about drinking all your whiskey and getting shit-faced on your floor." David said apologetically, looking down at the silvery chain coiled in his hand, his other hand still tightly held in Kaz's strong, comforting grip. "And about all the, uhm, inappropriate propositioning. I always get that way when I get really drunk."

"Don't worry about it. Better to be in my place, safe, than somewhere else where you could get into all kinds of trouble." Kaz replied, offering him a quick grin. "Besides, I enjoyed the sexual offers. I know you get ridiculously horny when you get drunk. It's one of my favorite things about you."

David cleared his throat, his cheeks aflame with a dull flush, taking one last drag from the nearly spent smoke before passing it back to Kaz. Kaz finished it, stubbing it out on the railing beside him and flicking it to the ground, watching the white tube disappear into the darkness beneath their dangling limbs, swallowed by the impenetrable black of the night. He picked up David's hand again, relishing in the way their fingers tangled together effortlessly.

Kaz looked over at David's handsome profile, outlined by the dark, his sharp nose giving way to softly curving lips and a strong, narrow chin. Kaz wet his lips with his tongue as tried to work out how to put this.

"David..." he started hesitantly, squeezing David's hand again, the rough pad of his thumb brushing lightly over the split skin of David's knuckles as he finished mentally refining what he was about to say. "What you're feeling right now. I wish I could lie and say that it gets better with time. But it doesn't. Not really. You'll always live with that ache, that pain. What you do get better at is managing it. Dealing with it. You have to accept that some things are simply about survival. And you have to understand that they would've killed you without a second thought."

Kaz paused as he examined David, who was silently listening, reminded vividly of what Frank had said outside Kaz's office building earlier that day.

Kaz sighed before continuing. David's heart had always been too goddamn big, too earnest and _good_ , for this kind of dirty work. Still holding David's hand in his own, he went on. "And you may feel bad about it later, and that's good. That's human. But don't let it destroy you. Not when your own life was on the line. You have to be your number one priority on the battlefield. And in life in general, for that matter. Do you understand?"

David was silent for a moment, staring at the silver thing in his hand before speaking. "I never knew his name. His full name." He opened his hand all the way, tipping it towards Kaz and letting him see the dog tags that he'd been clutching all this time. The chain caught the light, and Kaz squinted at them, struggling to read the inscription without the aid of his aviators.

"Frank brought me these. He didn't have anybody to claim them. This base was all he had. Turns out, Jones was his last name. Isn't that funny?" David let a tight, bitter laugh. It hurt to hear such a mirthless laugh. "Isn't that so goddamn funny? These fucking things were hanging around his neck and I never even fucking bothered to look. It was Theodore, by the way. Theodore Jones."

David's voice broke on the last word, and Kaz tightened his grip on David's hand, helplessly trying to help David but not knowing how. David turned his head, looking at him through wet eyes, his cheeks still dry.

"I don't know the name of the woman I killed." David stopped, his voice cracking again. He turned away from Kaz's concerned eyes, the clouded gray too understanding, looking instead at the almost completely still base, a few guards roaming around but otherwise undisturbed.

"I should've killed her. Before. Instead of knocking her out. Just like Higgins said. Then only one of them would be dead and Jones-" He broke off, swallowing hard. David let out a shaky breath as a tear finally started slipping down his cheek, hot against his cool skin. "It was my fault. It should've been me. _I_ should be dead. It should've been _me_."

Kaz sucked in a harsh breath, hot tears pricking at his own eyes and he dropped David's hand, fisting his hand in David's t-shirt and forcing him to look him in the eyes, pulling him closer. David met his gaze, his blue eyes full of unshed tears and his skin blotchy.

"Don't you _ever_ say that. Don't you ever fucking say that." Kaz said fiercely, his voice low and furious. "Don't ever think that you'd be better off dead. You're so much better than that. I _need_ you, David. I fucking _need_ you."

David started openly sobbing, tears falling freely from his eyes, his entire body shaking with guilt and grief. Kaz roughly yanked him closer, sealing his mouth over David's in a desperate kiss. It tasted of salty tears and peppermint and smoke. David was still crying, but he met his lips fiercely, his mouth moving insistently against Kaz's like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Kaz broke away and wrapped his arm around David's broad shoulders, pulling him against his chest and letting him sob. David reached up and tangled his hand in the neck of Kaz's yellow hoodie, holding fast, his hand curling around the bright fabric, fingers stained with the scent of metal. Kaz rubbed his shoulder soothingly, helpless against this torrent of tears, unable to do anything but simply be there for him.

Kaz waited until David's body stopped quaking with misery, allowing him to cry himself out. Finally, David's breathing normalized, but he didn't break away, still clinging to Kaz's hard chest, unwilling to give up the warmth and comfort of Kaz's familiar body against his own. He snuffled wetly, trying to muffle the sound of his tears in his hoodie, ashamed of the snot and tear stains on Kaz's front. Kaz rested his chin on David's head, still absently rubbing his shoulder, holding him close.

"OK, listen up, David, this is important." Kaz said, and David drew back, swiping at the tear tracks on his face with the heel of his hand. Kaz shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket, feeling the sharp edges of David's lighter, the soft cloth of a long-forgotten handkerchief.

"There's no honor to be found in death for death's sake. It took a long time to realize that, but it's true. There's no honor in dying for a dead man. There is only honor to be found in going on, even when it hurts." Kaz paused, reconsidering his words. "No. _Especially_ when it hurts. Finding that strength, the strength to go on when all you want to do is stop, that's what's truly worth something."

David nodded slowly, brows creased. Kaz couldn't see him like this, broken, eyes red and skin mottled with red spots. It hurt him too deeply. Kaz pulled David back to him, his open hand splayed against his back. David pressed his cheek against Kaz's dry shoulder, wrapping his arms around Kaz's middle.

"It's a hard call to make. Who should live or die. I'm not saying it's a simple decision. The exact opposite, honestly. It's never easy. It's never black or white. It's never as simple as right or wrong, David. Everything is 1000 slight differing shades of gray, no matter how badly you want it to be cut and dry. It's all about survival. And on the battlefield, you _need_ to pick your own side, because you can be damn sure that nobody else will."

David pulled away again, sniffing deeply. Kaz tugged the handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him, and David blew his nose noisily with a murmur of thanks. Finally he shook his head, Theodore Jones' dog tags in one hand and a crumpled, wet handkerchief in the other, looking away.

"But how, Kaz?" he asked plaintively, his mouth dry. "How can I pick my survival over theirs? How can I make that call? How can I be a good person and put myself over others?"

Kaz grabbed his chin, fingers pressing into his cheek, feeling a hint of stubble interrupting the softness of David's skin beneath his fingertips. "Because you _must_ , David. Know that they're making that same call, the call that they'd rather they remain living over you. Know that they'd kill you, too, given the chance. You have to get there first, and that all there is to it. You have to get there first."

David nodded silently, again, leaning into Kaz's touch, a dry gust of breath issuing from his parted lips. Kaz let him lean against him for a bit before withdrawing his hand, clapping David's shoulder and grabbing his cane.

"OK. With all that out of the way, whaddya say you let me make you some scrambled eggs, extra greasy? It'll help with that hangover. Grease and protein are your friends. Always remember that."

David laughed, short and strained, but genuine. Kaz smiled, and David hoisted himself easily to his feet, helping Kaz up.

"I think I'd like that, Kaz."

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Nothing says Christmas like the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing feeling of killing someone for the first time, am I right or am I right? 
> 
> Ok, so #1, the pouch thing was supposed to be a joke. Because in video games, the characters have these sleek, streamlined suits and then they pull out fricking rocket launchers out of nowhere, so these guys had everything on them. I don't know, I thought it was funny. 
> 
> #2, I made the base be technology-free because I had no idea what to do in that respect. Like, in Metal Gear, Solid had a glorified Game Boy advanced, but in MGSV, Venom has that idroid and technology that can control the weather so I didn't know what to do. So I just... Didn't. Artistic license and whatnot. 
> 
> Also, #3, if you're having a bad day or you just want a good laugh, please do yourself a favor and imagine Kaz singing Meg's song (from Hercules) "I Won't Say I'm in Love". It works with literally any pairing. I laugh every time I think about it. It just amuses me to no end. Here's a link; https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=FqDaoMtIujs 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and all that jazz!
> 
> Oh, and as always, "Back to Black" by wolvesofbrooklyn. The inspired by thing isn't working, so whatever.


End file.
